


the inconveniences of long-lost love

by crocustongues



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, First Meetings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, half-assed baking, one sided immortality (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 14:32:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15511923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crocustongues/pseuds/crocustongues
Summary: The first time it happens, Daichi brushes it off as coincidence. It happens in the convenience store across the street from his house, at six o’clock in the evening, just after he gets off from work, and he has an urge to eat at least ten of those slightly chewykara-agestrips they sell in little red cardboard boxes.He grabs as many as he can, and makes his way to the cashier, taking care not to drop any of the several boxes he’s carrying, and waits in the queue. The man in front of him seems vaguely familiar; maybe it’s the hair, styled wildly, and jet black, but Daichi’s sure he’d remember something so…iconicif he’d ever seen it before.





	the inconveniences of long-lost love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cupofkoushi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupofkoushi/gifts).



> dearest Astrid, it's me! your super duper not-so-secret gifter for the fic exchange. bet you totally saw it coming though!  
> it's been wild, this entire fic, and i hope you like it! i put as many headcanons into it as i could, just because!  
> i'm so glad i got you to write for & i totally didn't panic because i love you lots & wanted to write The Best Fic In The World for you  
> (it's kurodai because of the zine, yes, please,)

The first time it happens, Daichi brushes it off as coincidence. It happens in the convenience store across the street from his house, at six o’clock in the evening, just after he gets off from work, and he has an urge to eat at least ten of those slightly chewy _kara-age_ strips they sell in little red cardboard boxes.

He grabs as many as he can, and makes his way to the cashier, taking care not to drop any of the several boxes he’s carrying, and waits in the queue. The man in front of him seems vaguely familiar; maybe it’s the hair, styled wildly, and jet black, but Daichi’s sure he’d remember something so… _iconic_ if he’d ever seen it before.

The man in front with the weird bedhead steps aside, finally, (he buys too many things that Daichi deems healthy, and then cringes internally at himself for judging someone at face value), and puts down his own (many, many) boxes and the man chuckles softly when he drops one.

“Excuse me?” Daichi turns, not even bothering to plaster a smile on his face. He’s tired, and hungry, and this stranger with bad hair judging his life choices was simply too much.

“Oh, it's nothing. I really like _kara-age_ too, but you _really_ seem to like it.” He emphasises on _really_ like it’s supposed to imply something else entirely.

Daichi nearly loses it, then and there, because it’s not _his_ fault he has a big appetite, but before he can say anything, the stranger rushes to continue, “I mean, it’s nice. Many people don’t appreciate its texture and flavour! And how it’s got the right amount of give.” Daichi raises an eyebrow (he’s secretly glad he can do that, because Hinata’d told him _it looks so scary Daichi-san_ ), concerned about the stranger now.

“Ah, sorry to waste your time, I’m Kuroo Tetsurou,” he says, with an awkward smile and grabs his bag of too many vegetable crackers and what looks like at least two cartons of almond milk. Daichi doesn’t know what compels him, maybe it’s the politeness his mother drilled into him, maybe it’s the exhaustion and hunger talking, maybe it’s the remainder of the smile Daichi can’t forget (and won’t, for the next few weeks).

“I’m Sawamura Daichi,” he calls back, and Kuroo Tetsurou turns around with that smile and gives him a little wave.

Later that night, surrounded by empty red boxes, Daichi finds himself thinking about Kuroo Tetsurou and that niggling thought at the back of his mind—that meeting Kuroo Tetsurou was a repeated experience; something too vague to remember clearly and thinking about it is like looking through muddy water. He sighs and falls back into his sofa—that he probably wouldn’t get up from, it was far too comfortable after a long day—and wonders if he’ll ever get to see him again.

He does, surprisingly, and even more surprisingly, Kuroo Tetsurou remembers him back, and funnily enough, it happens at the convenience store across the street. This time, though, Daichi’s buying day-old oyakodon and some orange juice to go with (in his head, something about the fact that orange is a fruit cancels out the irresponsibility of yet another unhealthy meal).

This time, Kuroo Tetsurou waits patiently for him to finish paying for his purchases, yet again with a certain degree of shame in buying something distinctly more calorific than Kuroo Tetsurou’s Bag of Healthy Snacks. Like seaweed crackers. Daichi’s _granddad_ eats those and he’s _eighty-five_.

They get along surprisingly well, Daichi’s pleased to admit, and no, it isn’t because Kuroo Tetsurou is handsome as hell. It’s _not_ , so quit insinuating it, OK? It’s not because he has a charming smile _either_ , Daichi’s already seen the seaweed crackers in his bag.

They talk about the weather and the dog they see owner of their convenience store walk around the block (his name is Udon, Kuroo informs him, and _goddamn_ it if Daichi isn’t delighted). Daichi learns that Kuroo lives down the block, and teaches history at the local university, which Daichi thinks is entirely too fitting. In return Daichi tells him he works at the law firm in the heart of town and gets home late enough to be far too tired to cook himself a meal. Kuroo is appalled and tells him so, and offers to cook him a balanced for once in his life, to which Daichi agrees easily, and so, they fall into friendship—over Daichi’s unhealthy eating habits and Kuroo Tetsurou’s self-proclaimed infamous cooking skills.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next time they meet, is at Kuroo’s house, at eight o’clock in the evening, and the second Daichi enters, he falls in love. Soft jazz plays in the background and Kuroo Tetsurou, yes, _fine_ , Daichi will admit, looks far too handsome in a cardigan— _God_ , he really is Daichi’s grandfather, isn’t he?—than anyone has the right to look. There’s a coffee table piled high with ruled pages, with red ink chicken scratch and cross marks doodles over them, and Kuroo blinks behind his enormous reading glasses, welcoming him in.

Daichi pulls at the cuffs of his ironed button-down, and wonders if he’s a tad overdressed; the joys of lawyering did not include the luxury of casual wear, and Daichi hadn’t been out to an event in over a year that didn’t require at least his favourite powder-blue button-down. Heck, he’d even groaned while pulling on his jeans; he’d had to hold in his breath to button them and could swear that mirror-him was pulling faces at him behind his back.

Dinner is a marvellous affair, with Kuroo’s cooking living up to its name; there’s vibrant curry, and fragrant rice, and funnily enough, fried chicken. Daichi sticks his tongue out while taking second helpings, and Kuroo only laughs. There’s something that sparks a fond ache in Daichi’s gut, and he’s a little afraid of what this might mean.

They talk well into the night; Kuroo isn't the smooth bastard he'd thought him to be but somehow knows all the right things to say to make Daichi laugh until the smears of red and gold lights outside go out one by one by one.

When Daichi walks home that night, he holds tonight carefully in the palms of his hands. It feels precious and special, and that odd feeling of déjà vu that’s been following him the last few weeks feels like an old friend, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

»»————-　♡　————-««

It’s the convenience store again. This time, though, Daichi’s buying buttermilk. There’s a potluck at work tomorrow and he’s determined to make something exquisite; something so divine, it’d make them all sorry they’d made fun of his cooking skills.

Now, granted Daichi didn’t have any cooking skills to speak of, he’s still rather miffed that Sugawara, the guy in the cubicle next to him, had the nerve to tease him, and Hinata’d overheard their conversation, so now, Daichi’s got to prove himself. He _has_ to. His honour before his intern was stake.

Still mumbling vague threats, he bumps into Kuroo in the dairy aisle.

Kuroo listens patiently and helps him look for buttermilk. Daichi explains his idea of baking a batch of cupcakes to take to work, and confesses he’s never really baked anything before. Kuroo, bless his heart, offers to help him, and lo and behold, they’re back in Kuroo’s house, surrounded by magical jazz and mahogany.

“So first, Sawamura, we fold the batter—“

“Like this?”

“I said fold, not _fight!_ ”

Daichi finds himself enjoying this process far more than he’d expected to, and—oh _alright_ , is there any point in denying it was magnified tenfold by being in Kuroo’s company? They finish scooping the last of the batter into the fancy new moulds Daichi’d bought on the way home from work, and the kitchen smells absolutely heavenly. He’s ready to claim back his dignity. Kuroo shoos him out so he can put the trays in the oven to bake for an hour, all twenty seven of them, and Daichi, flour-faced and all, finds himself at the bookshelf in Kuroo’s living room.

To say the bookshelf is massive is an understatement—it spans floor to ceiling and across an entire wall of the room. The shelves are lined with books of every genre, some in foreign languages Daichi can’t even identify. He reads the titles off the spines one by one, pulling out a couple that pique his interest here and there. At the far end of the second row, he pulls out a book without a title, and finds that it’s a photo album. It must be pretty old, considering the golden detailing on the cover had almost rubbed off, and he can barely read the inscription on the front page. He flips a couple of pages out of pure curiosity and—

He shrieks and drops the book.

The face in the photo he’s holding is his own. Now, Daichi’s barely thirty years old, but his face in the picture is closer to fifty, lined with faint wrinkles and salt-and-pepper hair. The Kuroo next to him looks exactly like he does to Daichi now, and—

Kuroo’s standing at the doorway, stricken and white-faced, and Daichi can hear him apologise and something about a curse and immortality—it’s suddenly too much for him, and he finds himself against the door. Kuroo holds his hands in front of him, as if meaning no harm, and the second he takes a step forward, a mouth full of unsaid platitudes, Daichi makes a break for it. Years and years of sports in high school have not given up on him, and he runs down four sets of stairs in record time.

He doesn’t stop once he’s out on the street; he runs and runs and runs until he’s out of breath, putting as much distance between himself and Kuroo, running until the smell of cupcakes fresh out of the oven and smiling faces in love stop chasing him.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Daichi doesn’t remember how he got home the night before, but he finds himself in wrinkly pyjamas on his sofa, all he remembers is the remnant of dream: it seemed like years and years ago, everything was much slower, and there was Kuroo and himself on the bed, bathed in early morning light. They were talking about a curse, and instinctively, Daichi knew it spelt something bad, perhaps the same curse Kuroo had mentioned. There scene changes then, they’re in an expensive room, gilded furniture around them, the air hazy with opium and smoke. Kuroo says something to someone in the centre of the room, followed by lightning and thunder, and suddenly they’re at home. Daichi’s perspective shifts yet again; they’re back home and Daichi in the dream is tracing a long and gruesome scar down Kuroo’s side. They’re both tight-lipped and red-eyed, and Daichi’s heart hurts. He wakes up then, just as one of them is about to say something.

He knows, even half-conscious, what they were going to say, and it leaves a metallic tang at the back of his throat. He wants to call off work today, but chooses not to, hoping work could take his mind off of everything. A scalding hot shower later, he puts on his loafers and his coat and hopes the deli next to the station is open.

He opens the door to find two containers of cupcakes, frosting and all, still cool from a night in the refrigerator. He chokes back his tears and looks for a bag big enough to hold them all.

At work, Daichi’s distracted. He doesn’t even enjoy the fond eye-roll Sugawara gives him when Hinata tells him, with a reverent look in his eye, _Daichi-san, these were so good, I don’t even—they were—whoa! And the frosting was so uwaah!_

It stays like that for a good few weeks, except Daichi takes on more and more cases, staying later and later in the office, until he hardly ever goes home at all. Even his boss asks after his health, concern written all over his face, during his appraisal. He nods and smiles weakly, trying very, very hard not to think about the dreams he has, now with increasing frequency. 

He’s gathered the baseline of some kind of story—they’d gotten on some antiques dealer’s wrong side, some kind of age-old family feud Daichi can’t piece together, but they’d somehow been on the receiving end of a curse. It’d started when Daichi, the other, older one in the dreams, had started getting sicker and sicker as the years wore on, and Kuroo stayed exactly the same.

One night, Daichi’d woken up with a crick in his neck and sweat rolling off him, truly and dearly afraid for his life. He’d watched himself die. The last thing he’d heard was Kuroo telling him he’d find him, no matter where he was. 

He’d watched himself _die_.

Daichi pieces together the last of the clues in his stormy dreams and surmises that, perhaps, it was finally time to confront Kuroo. He pulls up his contacts and stares blankly at the message screen, trying to draft a message that made sense.

 _Hey. Sorry for running out the other night_. Nope. Too casual.

 _Have something to say to you_. Delete. Far too ominous.

 _Can I talk to you? It’s urgent_. There. He presses _send_ and hopes he doesn’t chicken out of this situation. He’s almost asleep when he hears his phone go ding! and he realises that tomorrow at seven thirty in the evening, he’ll know the truth for sure. Whether that brings him peace or more fear, he doesn’t know for sure, but the thought of seeing Kuroo’s face again makes his heart ache, kind of like muscle memory.

»»————-　♡　————-««

7:30 pm arrives far too soon, and Daichi knocks rather nervously at the door. He doesn’t have time to overthink (like he hadn’t already done that on the walk to Kuroo’s house) because Kuroo opens the door, looking weary and miserable, worn down to the bone.

Daichi feels terrible, and there is silence for a few minutes, as Daichi sits down on the armchair. Everything’s still exactly the same, but _different_ , somehow. He can see Kuroo trying to figure out a way to tell the tale. The silence crests for a moment, and-

“You’re really bad at communicating,” Daichi blurts out. Kuroo looks at him in shock, and then gives him a small smile. “You could’ve called, or something, you’re terrible!” Daichi continues, gaining momentum, still jittery and nervous, though the smile on Kuroo’s face is reassuring.

Kuroo apologises and then, the moment Daichi’s been apprehensive about, the story. _Their_ story.

Daichi’d been right, mostly, and Kuroo fills in the gaps. Rather prolific, their story, and tragic, too. It’d begun with love, like most tragedies do, and as Kuroo explains, things come back to Daichi, things that should’ve stayed lost but surface like faint memories often do, like a mushroom cloud bomb of nostalgia. The homesickness of their time together grows in his chest, but he stays quiet until Kuroo reaches the tail-end of their story. 

Once Kuroo is done, the silence returns, a pregnant pause hovering around them like a watchful mother hen. The Daichi, the anxious fool that he is, asks: _Did you mean it? What you said to me when I died?_

Kuroo looks at him like he’d asked if him aliens pooped blue sugar-cubes (Daichi knows what that look looks like, he’d seen Sugawara make the same face when Hinata’d asked him).

“Well, you wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” there’s an unfortunate wobble in his voice when he answers and _oh_ , how Daichi’s heart yearns to make it disappear.

He says, _so what now?_

 _I don’t know_. A reply.

So Daichi makes the most important executive decision of his life; he takes both of Kuroo’s hands into his own and tells him he’d like to get to know him better.

Kuroo’s eyes widen, and his _smile_ —goodness, what wouldn’t Daichi do to keep it as is. 

The night wears on like that, the books on the shelves, having known millennia, find new joy in eavesdropping on the long-lost lovers.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Daichi does, in fact, get to know Kuroo. He finds that Kuroo is great at communicating, if exclusively in emojis and favours the eyes emoji and red hearts emoji in particular. He likes old bass and soft jazz, and loves cooking, which is fantastic, because Daichi loves eating.

(“You haven’t changed,” Kuroo tells him, fond as can be.

Daichi rolls his eyes and takes another bite of his fried chicken.)

And he discovers, Kuroo likes holding hands—fingers intertwined, or curled into his palm, foreign and familiar, all at once.

»»————-　♡　————-««

(There is a kiss, at the ending of this story, but Daichi isn’t paying attention. Kuroo does, though, and it feels just like the last. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they’d said, all will be well in the end, you’ll see, they’d said.

When they finally kiss, you see, Kuroo can't really explain; he's a history professor, and has been for several years, but perhaps this is what it felt like in outer space, suspended motionless, yet moving at thousands of miles an hour; floating and breathless and on the cusp of something large and unknown, yet unafraid to march right into it.)

**Author's Note:**

> if there're any continuity or grammar errors please forgive me, i had to edit this in the comps room at uni and then in the shadiest internet cafe aaaaahh but i hope you enjoyed this lots! <3 keep being your truly fantastic self, don't let anyone get you down (but if they do, kuroo, daichi, and i will throw Some Fuckin Hands with them)
> 
> lots of love, andy


End file.
